Marxism in Bondage

Female Asian professor uses Bondage and discipline to teach me Marxism. She invites me to her house and takes me to her basement. She orders me to strip and strings up my hands over me and ties my legs apart. then she starts with a flogger and moves to whips and canes while quizzing me about Marxism.

**"Theory and Practice"** The basement smelled like leather and old books. Professor Lui closed the door behind us with a click—final, predatory. "You wanted a lesson in dialectical materialism," she said, unbuttoning her crisp blazer. "Let’s see if you learn better under pressure." Her gaze pinned me in place before her hands did. "Strip." I shucked my clothes, the cold air tightening my skin. She guided me to the center of the room where metal hooks gleamed overhead. "Hands up." The cuffs snapped around my wrists, the chain ratcheting tight until I stood stretched, vulnerable. Another strap secured my ankles to the floor, spreading me wide. The first strike of the flogger sent fire across my back. "Define surplus value," she demanded, circling. I gasped, scrambling for the answer as the tails bit again. "E-Exploitation of labor—**ah!**—the gap between wages and profit—" "Good." The cane replaced the flogger, precise as her lectures. "Now, who controls the means of production?" The sharp crack against my thighs made my knees buckle, but the restraints held. Her lips grazed my ear as I panted. "Focus. Revolution requires discipline." I could already feel the welts rising—proof of her pedagogy. And class had only just begun.

Professor Wu traced the tip of the cane down my spine, pausing just above the cleft of my ass. "You're still too tense," she murmured. "Material conditions determine consciousness. Let me... *adjust* yours." The cane lifted—I braced—but instead of another strike, I felt the cool press of leather against my throat. The collar buckled snug, her fingers lingering just beneath my jaw. "Better." Her free hand slid down my stomach, calloused and deliberate, grip tightening as she reached my cock. She stroked once, slow, then squeezed just shy of pain. "Now—the dictatorship of the proletariat. Explain it while I *distract* you." I choked out a response as her thumb swiped over the head, smearing pre-cum. She rewarded me with another measured pull, her other hand still gripping the cane. "A-after revolution... the working class holds po—*fuck*—political power—" "Mm. *Passable*." She released me abruptly, stepping back. "But theory isn't enough." The cane tapped against my inner thigh. "You need to *feel* the contradictions." The next stroke landed across my ass, sharp enough to make me arch against the restraints. My cock twitched, aching. She clicked her tongue. "See? Even your body betrays you. Dialectics in action." I could hear the smile in her voice as she leaned close again. "Shall we proceed to... *practical* application?"

The cane clattered to the floor as Professor Wu stepped behind me, her nails raking down my welted back before gripping my hips. "You'll need a *material* demonstration," she purred, pressing her body against me. The heat of her thighs bracketed mine, her skirt hiked up just enough for me to feel the damp lace of her panties through the restraints. A slick sound—her fingers working between her own legs—then she dragged them along my trembling stomach. "The contradictions of capital," she breathed, smearing her wetness across my abs, "are *nothing* compared to the ones in your body right now." Her free hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. "Tell me, comrade—do you submit to historical inevitability?" I groaned as her teeth scraped my shoulder, her hips grinding against my ass. "Y-yes—" "Louder." She nipped my ear. "The revolution *demands* it." "*Yes*—" Her laugh was dark as she unbuckled the ankle straps. "Then kneel." The cuffs released with a metallic snick, my arms aching as they fell. "And prove it." She stepped back, hiking her skirt higher, one heel propped on the chair. "The means of production," she said, tapping her clit through soaked lace, "*belong to the people*."

--- My knees hit the concrete, the chill seeping in as I swayed forward, my breath ragged. Professor Wu’s thigh pressed against my chest—warm, unyielding. She hooked a finger into the lace and peeled it aside, revealing glistening pink. The scent of her arousal was thick, heady. “Start with the *material base*,” she commanded, voice velvet-wrapped steel. I leaned in, tongue flicking over her swollen folds. She tasted sharp, intoxicating. A gasp tore from her lips as I traced slow circles, her fingers tightening in my hair. “Don’t just *read* the theory,” she hissed, rocking against my mouth. “*Engage* with it.” I obeyed, sucking lightly on her clit, reveling in the way her hips jerked. Her heel dug into my back, urging me deeper. Every shudder, every muffled curse was a lesson—one I was desperate to master. Then, abruptly, she hauled me back by the collar. Her eyes burned. “Now—the superstructure.” She shoved me onto the chair, straddling me in one fluid motion. The wet heat of her settled against my cock, teasing. “Show me you understand *power dynamics*.” Her nails raked down my chest as she sank onto me, moaning. “*That’s* dialectics.”

Professor Wu’s thighs clenched around me as she rolled her hips, her cunt tightening with every slow, deliberate rise and fall. The friction was electric, her body swallowing me whole with each thrust. She let go of my collar just to grip my wrists, pinning them to the chair arms, forcing me to take what she gave. “You see?” Her breath hitched as she ground down, her clit rubbing against me. “Thesis—” She lifted, almost pulling off. “Antithesis—” Then slammed back down, drawing a ragged groan from us both. “Synthesis.” My fingers dug into the armrests, the wood creaking under the strain. She smirked, leaning in until her lips brushed my ear. “*This* is where theory meets praxis.” Her rhythm quickened, riding me with ruthless precision. Sweat slicked her collarbone, her blouse clinging as she moved. I thrust up to meet her, but she dug her nails into my chest, stilling me. “No,” she panted. “You *don’t* take. You receive.” She arched, crying out as her walls fluttered around me, her orgasm shuddering through both of us. But before I could chase mine, she lifted off completely, leaving me throbbing. Her palm smacked against my cock, making me hiss. “Class isn’t dismissed yet.”

Professor Wu slid off me, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her fingers—still glistening—traced the length of my cock, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. "You've learned the theory," she murmured. "But praxis requires... repetition." She turned, bending over the desk, her skirt hiked up to reveal the red marks from my grip on her hips. The curve of her ass was hypnotic, swaying slightly as she reached back to spread herself. "Again," she ordered, voice raw with authority. I didn't hesitate. My hands found her waist, my cock sliding into her with a slick, filthy sound. She gasped, fingers scrambling at the desk as I fucked her harder this time, each thrust driving her forward. "Good," she managed, though the word fractured into a moan. "But—*fuck*—faster." I obeyed, slamming into her until the desk shuddered. Her body clenched around me, her moans rising in pitch, but just as she teetered on the edge, she shoved back against me—forcing me out. Panting, she straightened and turned, her eyes blazing. "Now," she said, stepping closer, her heel pressing between my thighs, "let's discuss *control*."

Her heel pressed harder, the sharp point threatening just enough to make me flinch. Professor Wu smirked, then reached beneath the desk, producing cold metal shackles. She clicked one around my wrist before I could react, yanking my arm back to secure it to the chair. The other followed just as swiftly, locking me in place. "Is this necessary?" I growled, testing the restraints. "Absolutely," she purred, dragging a fingernail down my chest. "You're still too eager to *take* control." She unlocked the cuffs from the chair but kept my wrists bound behind my back, then fastened a leash to my collar. "Follow." The short chain tugged sharply as she led me toward the wrought-iron cage in the corner. My pulse spiked—had that always been there? She opened the door with a creak, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Inside." The command brooked no argument. I stepped in, the bars closing behind me with a final click. Professor Li crouched outside, her fingertips tracing the lock. "Better," she murmured. "Now we can really *study* your obedience." She reached through the bars, her hand wrapping around me again, her grip tight. "Let's see how long you can last... *this* time."

I don't last long, so Professor Lui yanks me out of the cage and marches me to where she had strung me up, hands overhead, legs spread, gags me, and begins working me over with floggers, whips, paddles, and canes, while taunting me for my poor understanding of Marxism.

Her grip tightened as I came embarrassingly fast, my hips jerking against her hand. Professor Wu clicked her tongue, wiping her fingers on my thigh with deliberate slowness. "Pathetic," she murmured. The leash yanked hard, dragging me out of the cage before I could catch my breath. She marched me to the steel rigging in the corner—cold cuffs snapping around my wrists, hoisting my arms overhead. Another restraint locked my ankles apart, leaving me spread and exposed. The gag slipped between my lips, silencing any protest as she stepped back, surveying her work with dark amusement. "Your material conditions are clear," she mused, tracing the first flogger's tails along my ribs. "*This* is the dictatorship of the proletariat." The first strike cracked across my chest—sharp, stinging heat flaring in its wake. I groaned around the gag, muscles tensing. "Still clinging to bourgeois notions of pleasure?" The whip landed next, precise and searing. "Let’s re-educate you." Each strike punctuated her lecture—paddle on my thighs, cane across my ass, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Dialectics, darling. Pain... and *more* pain." I shuddered, sweat-slick and trembling, as she circled me. The lesson had only just begun.

Professor Wu paused, tilting her head as she examined the reddened stripes across your skin. She tapped the cane against her palm, then dragged it slowly down your spine—the wood catching on each welt left by the whip. "You still flinch like a reactionary," she observed, circling behind you. The sudden bite of the cane against the back of your thighs forced a muffled cry past the gag. You jerked against the restraints, shoulders burning from the strain. "Good," she murmured, stepping close enough for you to feel her breath against your ear. "Now, the question is—do you *learn* from history, or do you repeat it?" Her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as the cane traced lower, teasing the sensitive skin just below your ass. A sharp slap of her palm made you stiffen—then the cane flicked forward, biting right where she'd struck. The pain crested, sharp and bright, and you arched helplessly against the cuffs. "Ah," she purred. "There’s your *consciousness* raising." Her free hand smoothed over the hot, trembling flesh of your inner thigh—not soothing, just possessive. "Let's test your contradictions next."

Her fingers curled inward, nails pressing just shy of breaking skin as she dragged them up your thigh. The contrast—cold metal cuffs, the heat of her palm—made your muscles jump. Professor Li hummed, low and satisfied, before her cane cracked down again, this time diagonally across the stripes already rising on your ass. "You’re *soaked*," she noted, tapping the cane against your dripping cunt, the wood clicking lightly against your clit. "Even your body betrays you. Adorable." A sudden thrust of the cane’s tip had you choking on the gag, your hips bucking forward into nothing but air. She withdrew it slowly, then pressed the length of it flat against your stomach, pushing until the rigid curve forced your spine to arch further. "Beg properly," she ordered, unlacing the gag just enough to let your slurred words spill out. You gasped, lips numb, the plea ragged—*please, Professor*—before she shoved the gag back between your teeth. "Better." The crop replaced the cane, its sting precise as it painted lines of fire across your nipples. "Now, let’s discuss surplus value." Her hand slid between your legs, two fingers sinking in without warning, crooking just right as the crop bit down on your clit. Your scream was muffled, your thighs shaking. "Pay attention," she whispered. "This is the only credit you’ll earn tonight."

Her fingers curled deeper, twisting just enough to make your knees nearly give out. The crop flicked again, sharp and rhythmic, matching the relentless thrust of her hand. Every time you tried to grind against her, she withdrew—only to plunge back in harder, her palm smacking your clit on the next downstroke. "Do you feel it?" Her voice was velvet over steel. "The exploitation of your own body?" A laugh, dark as the bite of the restraints. "You *want* it. That’s the tragedy." The crop landed again, this time on the inside of your thigh—just a hair's breadth from where her fingers pistoned inside you. The pain blurred with the pleasure, your moans turning desperate against the gag. She leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "Come for me. Prove your loyalty." Your hips jerked, the orgasm ripping through you like a surrender. But before the shudders even subsided, her hand was gone, replaced by the cold press of the cane under your chin. "Again," she commanded. "We’re not done with your labor." The next strike landed as her thumb circled your clit—ruthless, unyielding. History, it seemed, was a cycle after all.

The cane cracked against your inner thigh—another stripe to match the others—just as Professor Li's fingers plunged back inside you, her thumb pressing hard circles over your clit. Your hips jerked uselessly against her hand, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you strained, oversensitive and trembling. She tutted, dragging her teeth along your shoulder. "No hiding now. You take what I give you." Her fingers curled, relentless, the heel of her palm grinding against you in time with each sharp flick of the cane. You whimpered behind the gag, sweat-slick skin sticking to the leather restraints. She laughed—low, pleased—when your thighs clenched around her wrist, your body betraying you again. "Good girl," she murmured, the words a hot breath against your ear. The cane clattered to the floor, and her free hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back. "But don’t think I’ll let you come easy this time." Her fingers slowed, taunting, while her other hand slid down to squeeze the bruised flesh of your ass. "Count. Every stroke." The first slap landed with a sharp *crack*, her palm stinging where the cane had already marked you. You gasped out a ragged *one*, the number mangled around the gag. She didn’t wait for your voice to steady before the second blow fell. "*Two*," she corrected, her fingers twisting inside you. By *five*, your thighs were shaking, your cunt fluttering around her. By *eight*, tears streaked your cheeks. She leaned in, lips brushing your jaw. "Beg." The gag muffled your sob, but she caught the way your body arched, the silent plea in the roll of your hips. "Pathetic." Her fingers sped up, cruel and perfect. "Say it properly." With a flick of her wrist, the gag loosened, and your voice broke—*please let me come, Professor, please—* The slap landed square between your shoulders, sharp enough to knock the breath from your lungs. "Again." You babbled it—desperate, broken—and her hand snapped between your legs, her thumb pressing hard just as her fingers crooked. This time, she didn’t let go. Your scream echoed off the walls as she rode you through it, her grip in your hair keeping you upright until the last tremor faded. Only then did her fingers slide free, glistening, as she wiped them across your parted lips. "Again," she said, reaching for the cane. "We’ve only scratched the surface."

The cane traced a slow, deliberate line down your spine—its tip pressing into each tender spot she’d already marked. Professor Li exhaled, a soft, considering sound, before rapping it lightly against the back of your thighs. “Still so tight,” she mused, dragging the cane lower until it nudged your dripping entrance. “You *really* can’t help yourself, can you?” You arched, a wordless plea, but she pulled the cane away just before your hips could chase it. Her palm replaced it in a flash—a stinging slap that made your thighs jerk together. “Eyes forward,” she ordered, her free hand gripping your chin, forcing your gaze to the mirror mounted on the far wall. “Watch.” The next strike landed with precision—right where your ass met thigh—and you choked on a moan as your reflection flinched. Her fingers returned to your cunt, sliding through your wetness before circling your clit in tight, punishing spirals. “Count.” You barely managed *one* before her fingers plunged inside again, the heel of her hand grinding against you. The cane flicked against your nipple—*two*—then your inner thigh—*three*—each number wavering as her thrusts grew sharper. She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. “You’ll take it all, won’t you?” The gag muffled your sob, but your body answered for you—hips rocking, clenching around her fingers. “Good.” Her teeth grazed your shoulder. “Now let’s see how much more you can *give*.” The cane’s next strike split the air as her thumb pressed down, hard, and your vision whited out.

The cane clattered to the floor as Professor Wu caught you by the throat—not choking, just enough pressure to make your pulse throb against her palm. Her other hand worked you faster, fingers crooked just *so*, her thumb a relentless counterpoint. “Look at you,” she murmured, nodding toward the mirror. Your reflection was a mess—cheeks flushed red, lips swollen around the gag, thighs trembling where they’d spread wider without your permission. “You’d let me ruin you.” A sharp thrust punctuated the words, her knuckles pressing into that spot that made your toes curl. The gag caught your whimper, but your cunt fluttered around her, greedy. She smirked. “Again, then.” Her grip on your throat tightened as she rode you through another climax, your back arching off the table. This time, she didn’t stop when you came—just slowed her fingers to a maddening crawl, dragging the orgasm out until you squirmed, oversensitive and shaking. Only then did she pull free, slick fingers tracing your lower lip. “I think,” she said, reaching for the collar on the desk, “we’re ready for the next lesson.” The leather clasped cool around your throat, the weight of it settling like a promise.

The collar’s buckle snapped shut with a quiet *click*, the sound echoing louder in your ears than the pace of your own breathing. Professor Li’s fingers lingered at your throat, tracing the edge of the leather before tightening just enough to make your pulse jump. “Better,” she murmured, giving the attached leash a testing tug. Your head tipped back instinctively, exposing the strained line of your neck as she leaned in, her lips grazing your jaw. “Now, let’s see how well you follow.” Her free hand slid down your body—past your heaving ribs, the sweat-slick dip of your waist—until her fingers dipped between your thighs. They came away glistening. She smirked, holding them up for you to see. “Still so eager.” The leash jerked sharply, forcing you forward off the table. Your knees threatened to buckle, muscles trembling from the aftermath of her touch, but she didn’t slow. The hardwood floor bit into your bare skin as she led you toward the center of the room, where a low bench waited. “On your knees.” Her voice brooked no argument. You sank down, the collar pressing into your throat as she stepped behind you. The cane’s tip traced the curve of your spine again—lighter this time, almost teasing—before tapping once against the back of your thigh. “Hands behind your back.” The restraints clicked into place before you could obey, securing your wrists together. A soft exhale escaped you as Professor Wu circled to face you, her heel pressing between your legs, just enough pressure to tease. “Good girl.” Her fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head up. “Now—open.” The leash went taut as her other hand guided her cock between your lips, the taste of her already familiar. She groaned when your tongue flicked over the head, your mouth stretching to take her deeper. “That’s it,” she murmured, her grip tightening. “Show me how *grateful* you are.” The first thrust was slow, deliberate—her fingers still wrapped in your hair, the leash ensuring you couldn’t pull away. The next wasn’t.

The next thrust drove deep, the thick length of her cock hitting the back of your throat. Your gag reflex flared, but she didn’t relent—just tightened her grip on your hair and *held* you there, letting you feel the weight of her before pulling back just enough for you to gasp. Saliva slicked your chin as she fucked your mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, her heel grinding against your cunt in time with each push forward. The dual sensation had your thighs trembling, your bound hands flexing uselessly behind you. She chuckled, the sound dark as she watched your struggle. “Already shaking? We’ve barely started.” The leash tugged, forcing your spine to arch. “Swallow.” Her next thrust was relentless, the head of her cock nudging past your resistance until your nose pressed into her. You obeyed, throat working around her as she groaned, her free hand trailing down to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple hard. “Good,” she purred, finally easing back. A strand of spit connected your lips to her cock for a breathless second before she stepped away, leaving you panting. “Now, turn around. I want to see that pretty ass.” The leash guided you as you shifted on your knees, the hardwood unforgiving beneath you. The cane’s tip trailed over your skin again—this time down the curve of your ass, a whisper of a threat before she tapped it against your inner thigh. “Spread.” A shudder ran through you, but you obeyed, shifting your knees wider. The first strike landed without warning—a sharp crack that left your skin burning. You jerked, but the restraints held you in place. She hummed, dragging the cane lower. “Count.” The second strike landed just above your soaked cunt, and your voice shook as you obeyed. “*One*.” Her fingers slid between your thighs again, gathering your arousal before pressing two inside, curling in a way that made your hips jerk. The cane struck your ass again—harder. “*Two*,” you choked out. “Good girl,” she murmured, thrusting her fingers deep. “Now, let’s see if you can take it all.” The cane clattered to the floor as she replaced it with her cock, pressing the head against your entrance. A whimper escaped you as she pushed in, slow and unrelenting, until you were full of her. Her grip on your hips tightened. “Now, *move*.” You rocked back, the leash tugging as she met your thrusts, each one deeper than the last. The slap of skin filled the room, her groans mixing with your muffled cries. She leaned over you, her breath hot against your ear. “Tell me who you belong to.” You didn’t hesitate. “*You*.” Her hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing just enough as she drove into you. “Again.” “*Yours*—” The orgasm ripped through you before you could finish, your muscles clamping down around her as she fucked you through it, her own release following with a growl against your shoulder. She didn’t pull out, just kept you there, panting and trembling, the collar still snug around your throat. “Good girl,” she murmured. “Now, let’s see if you can do it again.”